Home Is Where the Heart Is

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Course I do. It’s hard to come by and, unlike some butchers, I don’t pass horsemeat off as stewing steak.’ After stamping the coupons, he handed the ration book back. ‘I see this belongs to a woman. Is she your sweetheart?’

  ‘A friend, she’s not feeling too well so I’m doing her shopping for her,’ Alex lied, as he picked up the parcel of chops. ‘If you were interested, I might be able to help you find more meat, as I do have contacts with a few farmers.’

  There was silence for a moment as the man quickly glanced at the queue piling up behind Alex. Then leaning closer as he handed over his change, he murmured, ‘Were you to acquire some, then you can generally find me round the back.’

  Nodding and smiling, Alex bid him good day and strolled out. It was always useful to find possible new customers. Now, he just had to find the necessary supplier, as that tale of knowing a few farmers was yet another lie. He wondered to himself if he were ever capable of telling the truth. But he was quite sure he’d find someone willing to supply him.

  Admittedly, some of the men he associated with were a bit hot-headed and reckless, as many had come close to death on more than one occasion during the war. Others had deserted and were living under an assumed name. Flirting with danger seemed to be an essential part of their lives.

  Once he’d enjoyed his lunch, he did a bit of digging in the potato patch to justify his reason for being at the allotment. After that, Alex spent the rest of the day prowling around factories and chatting to workers, as he so often did. He was ever on the lookout for possible candidates who could provide him with pilfered goods. If they didn’t want to risk trying to smuggle these out through the factory gate, he’d arrange to hover outside the lavatory window at an agreed time, and they’d chuck a bag out to him. He’d collected a sizeable stack of cigarettes as a result of this little scheme.

  His stash of food was also growing, almost as big as his wad of cash. He kept it hidden away either in the shed, or buried in metal boxes in the potato patch, comprising tins of beans, ham, sardines and salmon, packets of chocolate biscuits, as well as soap, perfume, cigarettes and alcohol. And as bananas were now back on sale, if he got his hands on some of those, he’d sell them for anything up to two shillings each. Eggs too would fetch almost as much.

  To his delight he did find a pig farmer willing to supply him with pork and sausages. Money seemed to be falling into his pockets as easy as riding a bike downhill. But what Alex most coveted were petrol coupons. If he ever got his hands on some of those, he could surely make a small fortune in no time.

  He’d rather thought that the black market might die, now the war was over. But with rationing still in place, and even getting worse now that bread and potatoes were rationed, quite the opposite was the case. Instead, this illicit trade was growing, probably because folk were sick of a dull wartime diet. The government must be turning a blind eye because they were unable to provide the necessary amount of food needed.

  At least his time working as a cook helped him to judge what to buy, and was making him far more money than toiling in a sweating kitchen, peeling spuds and scrubbing floors. Which was one good thing to come out of it, despite having been pilloried and used like a slave.

  It began to occur to Alex that he should perhaps widen his scope and start seeking out more profitable goods than eggs and bananas, or even coupons. Maybe he’d do a bit of snooping around jewellery shops, in case some more enterprising project sprang to mind. If he could get his hands on a lovely diamond ring, Cathie would surely come rushing back to him. Then once he’d walked her down the aisle, he could buy them a house with that pot of money she had stashed away. Alex smiled to himself at the thought.

  But first he had to persuade her to return home. He had one or two ideas on how he could achieve that. It was all about control, and he fully intended to keep a close watch on her over the coming weeks to help make up his mind. In the meantime he called in at a tailor’s shop on St Ann Street and had himself measured for a new suit. He likewise deserved such a treat for all his hard work.

  Cathie heaved a sigh of resignation as she let herself back into Brenda’s small flat, accompanied by the taxi driver whom she’d hired to help. Seeming to guess her problem, he’d generously carried everything up to the first floor for her. She’d even thought to bring Heather’s cot and high chair, and the man had kindly folded them up and transported those for her too. The pram was parked downstairs in the hall, and Cathie hoped that none of the other tenants would object to her leaving it there.

  After she’d thanked and paid him, costing far more than she could really afford, Cathie sat little Heather on the rug with her teddy and wooden bricks, and began to unpack her suitcase and various bags.

  The flat felt cold and unlived in, rain lashing down the windows, quite grey and miserable as the lights didn’t seem to be working either. Was there a power cut, or had Brenda forgotten to pay the electricity bill? With money so tight and few jobs around, Cathie worried about how she would find sufficient cash to cope with such problems. When Brenda had first sent her the key she’d told her that the rent was paid for three months, but that had been back in January and, as it was now the first week in April, it could be due soon too.

  Oh, how she wished her friend was here right now, then they could work out some solutions together.

  Cathie shivered as loneliness overwhelmed her and, settling into bed that night, still wearing her coat and socks as it was so cold, tears rolled down her cheeks. Could she even contemplate facing life without Alex? Yet no matter how stark it might be living here all alone, Cathie sternly reminded herself why she was here. Something had changed between them as a result of the war, or the years of separation, and despite her best efforts to understand and help him overcome whatever traumas he was suffering from, he’d still betrayed her. He’d also shown little interest in Heather. But then why would he when Davina was pregnant with his child, and he intended to marry her instead?

  As Heather beamed across at her from her cot set close beside the bed, Cathie’s heart swelled with love. The child was utterly adorable. Despite the pain Cathie felt, she had most definitely done the right thing. There was no help for it now but to buckle down and work hard; although how she would manage to earn enough money to bring up this little one alone she had no idea. But she’d do her best to cope, as hundreds of other women were having to do right now.

  Cathie spent the coming weeks working harder than ever while she diligently searched for a better job with more pay. There were very few around, and nurseries were starting to close now that the war was over, although fortunately not little Heather’s. But she worried that childminders might also prove to be a problem if it did.

  There were days towards the end of each week, before her next wage packet was due, when she would barely have enough cash or coupons to feed them both. On those occasions Cathie would go without food herself in order to feed the baby. Even at the start of the week, she would buy the cheapest she could find: tripe and trotters, kidneys, potted meat and brawn. Sometimes she would treat herself to a black pudding, or oatcakes and baps from the muffin man who would come strolling down the street, carrying his basket on his head.

  Fortunately, little Heather continued to thrive, even if Cathie herself began to feel increasingly weary and lacking in energy. But the task of caring for the baby, bathing her each evening in the sink with water she’d warmed on the small gas stove, then tucking little Heather up in her cot to sing her a lullaby, brought joy to Cathie’s heart.

  ‘What a little sweetheart you are,’ she would say, loving the sweet baby scent of her.

  ‘Mm-m-m,’ she’d say in response, almost as if she was trying to say ‘mummy’. Cathie hoped that was how this little angel would view her. She was her legal foster mum, after all. And she would give her all the love she would have received from Sal, had things been different. Should she use the money her daddy had left her? Cathie hoped that would never become necessary, quite certain she woul
d find a job in the end, and earn a decent income to secure the child’s future.

  The question buzzing through her head right now though, in addition to why he’d failed to be faithful to her, was how Alex had come by that wad of cash she’d found tucked away under the mattress. She did recall him saying that after years of obeying orders the prospect of being his own boss held strong appeal, so maybe he’d started up a small business on the quiet. Or else it was a gift from his well-to-do father?

  However he’d come by the money, he would spend it on Davina and their child, certainly not on her, or this little one. Cathie would need to find her own source of income. She’d even begun to question who she missed the most: Alex or Steve. Her old friend had certainly shown far more sympathy and understanding for her than her alleged fiancé, and she’d greatly appreciated the time they’d spent together on the charity work, particularly while Brenda was away. But at least she could live in Brenda’s miserable little bedsit, as she called it. A justifiable description right now as there was no hot water, no electricity and no spare cash to buy coal. How would she survive?

  A day or two later, Cathie went to collect little Heather from the nursery, as usual, following her shift at the umbrella factory. She stood waiting in the yard, becoming increasingly alarmed when she saw no sign of her niece among the children running into their mother’s arms. Panic robbed her of breath as she hurried to the door. Catching sight of the nursery nurse tidying away the toys, she politely asked, ‘Please, miss, where’s Heather? I can’t see her anywhere.’

  The young woman turned to look at her in surprise. ‘Your fiancé collected her, half an hour ago. I rather assumed you’d know that.’

  Cathie gasped, then spinning on her heels began to run, vaguely aware of the woman calling out her apologies as she chased after her.

  ‘It’s all right. I think I know where she’ll be,’ Cathie yelled, not pausing to explain that Alex wasn’t her fiancé any more. Why would he do that, and where would he have taken her? Home to Rona, she hoped.

  She was running so fast, and the sense of fear was so strong in her, that Cathie felt almost as if she’d slipped back in time to when she’d dashed to their house in Duke Street to collect those dratted blankets for her mother, and been bombed as a result. She could only pray that whatever was waiting for her today would not be anywhere near as bad.

  It was as Cathie reached for the sneck of the kitchen door, heart pounding and gasping for breath, that it suddenly opened and Alex appeared. He was holding baby Heather in his arms as he stood before her, a smile lighting his handsome face.

  ‘Cathie, sweetie, how wonderful that you’ve come home at last. Does this mean that you’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘No’ she said, vigorously shaking her head. ‘I came looking for Heather. What right had you to pick her up, and without even asking me?’ She reached forward to take the child, but Alex took a step back, shaking his head as he gave a little smile.

  ‘I have every right if I’m to be the child’s father, darling, and I’ve made up my mind that is what I’m going to be. So I thought it time I took some responsibility for the little one.’

  Cathie gazed up at him in amazement, hardly able to take in what she was hearing, and deeply aware of the nervous expression on the baby’s face that looked about to dissolve into tears. ‘I … I don’t quite understand.’

  ‘Of course you do, sweetie. You’ve been most patient of my problems, and the mistakes I’ve made as a result of the war. It was foolish of me to lie to you. I regret that greatly. I should have been more upfront about things and confessed the truth. You are my little treasure, after all.’

  A part of her was trembling even as she struggled to calmly smile. Could she believe a word he was saying? Oh, she so wanted to. Maybe she shouldn’t risk losing him just because of a foolish affair that he clearly regretted. How could she even contemplate life without the man she’d once thought of as the love of her life? But then how could she ever trust him again after what he’d done? As Heather began to wriggle and cry, reaching out her small chubby arms to Cathie, she said, ‘Please give her to me. She’s rather shy with people she doesn’t know.’

  ‘I’d put the child in her cot but it’s no longer here, so I’ll pop her down on the rug while we talk. Is that all right?’

  Noting the determination in his face, Cathie chose not to argue. Had it not been for the fact that he placed the child some distance behind him, well out of Cathie’s reach, she would have grabbed her and walked away. As it was she felt trapped, quite unable to do anything. Then the memory of the rumpled sheets and him cuddling Rona hit her, and she faced him with fresh fury in her eyes. ‘How can you assume I’d return to you when you’ve not only engaged in an affair with a friend, but I saw you embracing my own mother?’

  He stepped in front of her, arms folded, a flicker of a smile on his face. ‘I assure you that my relationship with Rona is purely platonic. I was only thanking her for her generosity as she urged me not to leave. I really have no wish to lose you, Cathie. I’m only using your bedroom because my parents threw me out for no sensible reason. I’m quite happy to sleep on the couch if you want your room back. I swear I did not sleep with Rona. Nor have I any wish to do so. It’s you that I love.’

  He was so earnest and in such obvious anguish that Cathie was sorely tempted to believe him, particularly as she knew what a flighty piece her mother was. Even Rona’s own husband hadn’t been able to tolerate living with her. Of course, Frank had suffered as a result of the war, according to Aunt Evie, as had Alex. He might declare that he loved her, yet how could she be sure?

  As the baby’s wails grew louder, she took a step forward. ‘She needs a cuddle. Please, get out of my way.’

  Alex reached the baby first, sweeping her up in his arms and Cathie watched in dismay as he settled himself on the sofa with the little one on his lap. ‘Have you considered how you would cope bringing up a child on your own?’ he asked.

  She thought of the problems she had at the flat, not least her lack of money and with the rent due soon, but chose to make no comment on this as things would surely improve, given time.

  ‘And why would you wish to when I’ve declared myself willing to adopt it.’

  ‘Her. Heather isn’t an it!’

  ‘Sorry, sweetie, I’m not used to babies yet, but I’m heartbroken that everything has gone wrong for us. I admit it was my fault. I accept now that I was wrong about this child, about lots of things. Such is war and, as I said before, I have no intention of marrying that tart. Please forgive me, darling, and give me another chance. I promise you will never regret it. Believe me when I say that you are my one and only true love, and will be forever. Now why don’t you put the kettle on, then we can enjoy a cuppa and make plans for our future together.’

  Did his behaviour indicate a return to the charming man he’d appeared to be when she’d first fallen in love with him, or some sort of ploy to win her over? She certainly had no wish to be made a fool of. What game was he playing? This was much worse than the ones Steve used to play on her. Cathie had always thought Steve to be a bit reckless and irritating, but now he’d grown into a caring and attractive man who expressed genuine concern for her. He certainly showed no sign of attempting to control and manipulate her as Alex now seemed intent upon doing. And using a baby in order to do so was beyond belief. Anger simmered within her as Cathie struggled to find a way out of this muddle.

  Setting the screaming infant down on the sofa, Alex came to slide a hand tenderly over her cheek. When his lips touched hers, Cathie offered no resistance as something inside of her crumpled. Did she still love him? Or was the emotion she felt down to nervous tension? Was it fear of Alex, or of coping alone that was troubling her? Right now it was very clear that she didn’t possess either the power or the courage to defy him. He was very much in charge, and not for the world would Cathie risk any harm coming to her lovely niece. She could but hope that time would resolve this issue.

/>   CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  So you’ve stopped fussing at last, and come home? Thank goodness for that,’ Rona said, when she arrived home from the mill later that day.

  ‘Your tea is in the oven, Mam,’ Cathie said with a sigh, knowing her mother’s relief was more to do with the fact she’d be spared housekeeping duties rather than being pleased to see her daughter. ‘I’m back for now, to see how things go.’

  ‘So you’re hoping everything will eventually come right between you, then you can marry after all, eh? Happen it’d help if you agreed to release the child’s pot of cash. Money is tight these days, remember, and he has every right to share it.’

  ‘Don’t start on that again, Mam.’ Cathie made no mention of how Alex had picked up little Heather from the nursery, or the doubts growing in her about his controlling behaviour. Was marriage what she truly wanted, or was she only thinking of the child? She couldn’t quite decide. As she helped little Heather spoon stewed apples into her eager little mouth, it felt as if she was standing at a crossroads in life, unable to make up her mind which route to take. In a way it had felt a wonderful relief to hear Alex apologise so humbly to her and be back in his arms, but learning to trust him again would not be easy. Perhaps that’s why there still remained a slight distance between them, one that would take time to bridge.

  ‘Stop being so bossy,’ Rona was saying as she helped herself to a portion of liver and onions. ‘And don’t ask too many questions of the poor chap. He needs time to acclimatise to everyday life.’

  ‘I do feel sorry for him in a way, as he still seems restless, and not at all settled into Civvy Street. Maybe I have been a bit too condemning and independent-minded. But I hate the fact that men seem to have double standards. They consider it perfectly acceptable for them to play around while wives and sweethearts aren’t even allowed to be friends with another man.’